


Recipe No.34, Page 52

by SummerNightmares (BlackDog9314)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pancakes, Summertime at Uncle Bobby's, Weechesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, almost no angst, brothers being sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314/pseuds/SummerNightmares
Summary: “I don't know where you learned to cook worth a damn, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn't from your daddy,” Bobby grouses good-naturedly.Sam and Dean have been staying with Bobby for almost a week, now, and it’s a mild and pleasant summer in Sioux Falls. Bobby’s often busy, but he doesn’t give them any kind of curfew, and when he has time he takes the two of them into town to get hot dogs and ice cream from the drugstore. As far as Dean’s concerned, though, the older man doesn’t have to do much of anything to make the time they spend at the familiar house his easy favorite.Though Sam doesn’t say as much, Dean thinks his brother also wishes they didn't have to inevitably leave South Dakota when John finishes the latest job he's out on. Sam's a good baby, and he doesn’t cry or pitch a fit, but Dean knows.





	Recipe No.34, Page 52

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of brother feels, okay??  
> *sobs snottily*

“You gonna make ‘em like the ones in the book?” Sam asks enthusiastically from where he's curled up on the floor near a scarred leg of the dining room table. He's surrounded by a pile of assorted legos, faded wooden blocks of various colors, and Lincoln logs, and while Dean isn't sure exactly what he's building, it's impressively tall considering there's nothing supporting it beyond his little brother’s willpower.

The book Sam’s referring to is the Better Homes and Gardens recipe collection propped open against a mason jar filled with bacon grease on the counter, and Dean’s manning the old, cream-colored stovetop just a few feet away. He knows Bobby's asleep at his desk in the office next-door from the way the radio station’s meandered into contemporary pop and still cranked loud enough to echo throughout the back of the house.

“Y’know I can't make it look like that one, Sam,” Dean reminds his brother as he flips a pancake on the hot griddle in front of him, watching with absentminded interest as pale yellow batter seeps out from beneath the crisp, brown circle. “We don't have any fresh fruit.”

They’ve had this conversation once already since Dean opened the cookbook and started looking for something to make less than an hour ago. Sam had been instantly enthralled by the colorful picture next to the recipe when they came across it, had been beguiled by the glossy piles of strawberries and bananas heaped onto the tower of flapjacks (not unlike the way he’d been fascinated by the detailed diagrams of Aztec-inspired funeral pyres out of one of Bobby’s lore manuals the night before, Dean thinks idly).

Sam looks crestfallen for all of a second before he shoves the expression off his face with a smile, quick and thin and full of spaces where he’s lost a few of his teeth. “Okay, De,” he says compliantly before bowing his head and returning to the bizarre, vaguely triangular structure on the worn rug in front of him.

Only a few minutes after that, the stack of pancakes near the stove is cooling and Bobby’s emerging from this office with his red-veined nose in the air. When he enters the kitchen and locates the source of the smell he gives Dean a sleepy frown.

“I don't know where you learned to cook worth a damn, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn't from your daddy,” Bobby grouses good-naturedly.

 Sam and Dean have been staying with Bobby for almost a week, now, and it’s a mild and pleasant summer in Sioux Falls. Bobby’s often busy, but he doesn’t give them any kind of curfew, and when he has time he takes the two of them into town to get hot dogs and ice cream from the drugstore. As far as Dean’s concerned, though, the older man doesn’t have to do much of anything to make the time they spend at the familiar house his easy favorite.

Though Sam doesn’t say as much, Dean thinks his brother also wishes they didn't have to inevitably leave South Dakota when John finishes the latest job he's out on. Sam's a good baby, and he doesn’t cry or pitch a fit, but Dean knows.

 _No, not a baby_ , Dean corrects himself. Sam’s only a few months away from seven, now. He’s been getting so tall lately, his arms and legs stretching like silly putty or cheap, plastic slinkies.

Dean notices he’s staring at the pancakes and tears his gaze away from them to glance around the kitchen. Bobby's looking at him a little strangely, but says nothing about whatever it is he’s thinking.

“Are they ready to eat?” he asks instead.

Dean shakes his head, suddenly getting an idea.

“No, they’re not!” he says as he darts across the room to the Frigidaire and flings its door open with more force than he intends. He searches the shelves quickly and grabs everything sweet he can find, from jellies and jams to bright red maraschino cherries, then hauls them over to the counter before booking it to the pantry at the other end of the room.

As he passes by Sam looks up at Dean with surprise, his strange pyramid temporarily forgotten.

Smiling to himself, Dean locates the powdered sugar in the blue and white paper sack and makes his way back to the counter, setting it down next to everything else.

Sam gets up to stand next to Bobby, and they both watch as Dean begins to slather everything onto the pancakes: squares of salted butter melting between the sweet sediment of blue and red and dark purple and clumsy fistfuls of sugar.

When he’s covered everything to his satisfaction, Dean takes a step back and raises his hands.

“ _Now_ , they’re ready.”

“You're gonna give me a heart attack, boy,” Bobby mumbles more to himself than to Dean as beside him Sam grins.

“You’re welcome,” Dean says with a smirk, laughing when Bobby rolls his eyes even as he gets a plate from the overhead cabinet and takes a few pancakes for himself. He goes back into his office without another word.

Once he’s gone, Sam hops energetically to Dean’s side and grabs his arm.

“It looks better than the book!” he says excitedly.

“Yeah?” Dean asks rhetorically as he gently shakes Sam’s hand from the crook of his elbow and begins to fix each of them a plate piled high with pancakes and far too much jelly.

Dad always tells him he needs to stop doing that, needs to stop doing things for his brother that Sam can do himself, but Dean feels better when he’s the one to make sure Sam’s getting enough of whatever it is they’re having. If that ends up being just a little more than what makes it onto his own plate, Dean knows it’s far from the worst thing that could happen to him.

“Yeah!” Sam gushes as they sit down across one another at the table.

“You best believe I'm magic,” Dean says with a wink as he watches Sam shovel a massive bite into his smiling mouth.

 “I know you are,” Sam says seriously as he finishes chewing, a speck of jelly stuck to the left corner of his mouth. “Always make everything better.”

Dean feels himself blushing as he looks down at the helping on his own plate, unprepared for Sam’s response.

“Whatever,” he mutters before taking a bite of his own.

           

When Sam presses his sticky face to the crease of Dean’s shoulder where they’re crammed together in Bobby’s guestroom bed later that night, Dean doesn’t complain. He simply wraps his arms around his little brother and holds him tight, listening to the even sounds of Sam’ breaths until they put him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I very rarely write fluff, so I hope you liked this! <3


End file.
